


It's All Fun and Games Until...

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I do believe, Mr. Anderson,” Kurt said dryly, “that you’re as high as the proverbial kite.”</p><p>set during 3x11 (“Michael”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All Fun and Games Until...

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: allusions to a past canonical hate crime, plus repercussions of events of this episode

Rachel and Finn were nice. Really nice. They’d brought him soup. And a song. A song that they’d sung with Kurt, who was also really nice, and it was all for him, even though he’d messed a lot of things up. Including his eye, even if that wasn’t his fault.

Blaine wasn’t sure which was more touching, though, because while he loved songs almost as much as he loved Kurt, he also loved soup. Especially chicken soup. It was all warm and filling, and it tasted really good going down, like a hug would taste if only a hug had noodles. And carrots. And sometimes celery, though he didn’t really like celery in soup. It was squishy, and celery shouldn’t be squishy.

Anyway, he was excited about the soup. Although he’d thought Rachel was vegan, so maybe it was “chicken” soup. It wouldn’t be the same, no matter what she said about the moral and health benefits of eating vegan. He didn’t know why the high ground had to have a weird soy aftertaste.

So the song was probably better. Also, it came with real, noodle-free hugs (at least from Rachel; Finn had only leaned over from _way_ up high and patted him on the shoulder when he said goodbye), so it was kind of win-win.

“Win-win,” he said. “Win-win.” The words kind of rolled and flollopped off of his lips. Oh, that was a fun word, too. “Flollop.” Was it even a word? It didn’t matter.

“I do believe, Mr. Anderson,” Kurt said dryly from the chair so far away at the edge of Blaine’s bed, “that you’re as high as the proverbial kite.”

Blaine opened his eyes - although it only mattered for one of them, really - and turned his head where it rested against the headboard so that he could see Kurt smiling at him. Kurt had a nice smile. Kurt had a nice everything.

“You have a nice everything,” Blaine told him.

“Thank you,” Kurt replied, his eyes widening. “And that second pill has clearly kicked in.”

“Especially your shoulders. I like your shoulders. And your stomach. And your - “

“Okay, anyway, we’re going,” Finn blurted out as he straightened up from patting Blaine’s arm.

Blaine beamed up at him and remembered his manners. “Thank you again for the song. And the soup.” He popped the p on the end. It was fun.

“You’re very welcome,” Rachel said from the end of the bed. “We’ll come by again soon. Let us know if there’s anything else we can bring you.”

“Thanks, guys. You’re the best. The best of the best. The bestest-est.” Blaine smiled after them as they left his room. He was so happy Finn was being nice to him again. “That one’s definitely a word.”

“I bet you could make a lot of money selling those pain pills under the bleachers,” Kurt said, reaching out to adjust Blaine’s throw over his legs. “If you didn’t need them.”

“My eye doesn’t hurt. I can just _feel_ it,” Blaine said. “It’s weird. I’ve never felt the inside of my eyelid before.” He blinked on purpose, and the movement felt rough and marginally unpleasant if he thought about it.

“It doesn’t hurt because you’re taking your pills,” Kurt told him.

“Oh. You’re probably right. I guess I shouldn’t sell them, then. Because my eye hurt a lot in the garage.” Although at least this time when he was rolling around in pain on the pavement, the grit of gravel and broken glass beneath his shoulder and the smell of red dye and corn syrup mixing with the greasy scent of motor oil, it had only been his face that was hurting. That was an improvement, at least in retrospect. At the time it had felt all too familiar.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said. His long, long fingers fiddled with the edge of the throw.

Blaine reached out and grabbed them with his own. They were always so soft and strong, so sure as they held onto him and moved over his skin. They’d been warm points of comfort while he was on the ground. He liked Kurt’s fingers a lot.

“Thank you?” Kurt said, and Blaine realized he must have said that last part aloud. Well, why not? It’s not like it was a secret. He didn’t keep secrets from Kurt. But Kurt didn’t look happy. Why didn’t Kurt look happy?

“Why are you sorry?” Blaine asked him after sorting through the shreds of their conversation. “None of this is your fault. Except for your fingers. Those are your fault. Especially when you touch me with them.”

Kurt smiled at him a little, but he looked sad. “He wasn’t aiming for _you_ , Blaine.”

“If he was aiming for you, he was aiming for me,” Blaine told him. “Do you think it would’ve hurt me less if you’d been the one hit?”

“By definition, yes.” Kurt gestured at Blaine’s face.

“No. No.” Blaine shook his head and blinked as the room spun around him. “No,” he said again, because that part was completely clear in his head, even if his head itself felt wobbly. “Kurt, no. Even if I knew what would happen, I’d do it again. Just like this. Do you think I’d let anyone hurt you?”

Kurt sighed and tightened his grip on Blaine’s hand. “Pardon me if I’m not thrilled with the fact that not only are you hurt but you’re hurt because of _me_.”

“No, I’m hurt because Sebastian is a jerk who isn’t worthy of wearing the Dalton uniform.”

“That’s one way of putting it. And yet you still take his calls.”

Something in Blaine’s gut squirmed uncomfortably; he realized after a moment that it was his stomach twisting up in guilty, soup-free knots. He looked down at the throw over his lap and got caught in the neat lines of the plaid, so structured and stable, so full of rules of how to be and where to go. Thick line, thin line, black, red, answer the phone, smile when people talk to you, never step out of the boundaries of your place in the pattern -

“You know,” Kurt said more gently, and Blaine was so startled by his voice that he looked up into Kurt’s clear, beautiful eyes. “You don’t _have_ to answer your phone when it rings. Except for when it’s me, and even then there might be the occasional exception. Very occasional.”

“It’s - ” Blaine’s free hand opened, helpless, against the blanket. He knew that. And yet when the phone rang, he always did pick it up. He didn’t know how not to. “I don’t understand what his problem is.”

Kurt snorted. “Oh, we could be here all day answering that question,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m serious, Kurt. I know I’m an idiot. I know why Puck and everyone wouldn’t trust me because of what I told him. I get it. But I don’t know _why_ Sebastian is playing me.” Frustration burned hot in Blaine’s chest, because he’d been nothing but honorable and nice to a fellow Warbler, a friend of his friends, and he was repaid by _this_? It wasn’t even just the injury or the shock of a fierce song battle turning into something that much more real and ugly; it was the betrayal of it. The Warblers had been in on it, too, on the attack if not the extra ingredients that had done the damage beyond that to his pride and his heart. They were his friends. They _used_ to be his friends. Since when was competition more important than people?

What had he done wrong?

“I’d say he’s been pretty clear about why.” Kurt’s fingers stilled on Blaine’s hand, but at least he left them there.

Blaine shook his head and closed his eyes to combat the swell of nausea that followed the movement. It didn’t really help, and he breathed in slowly through his nose until the moment passed and he could tolerate the sight of his room again.

“You should rest,” Kurt told him softly. He patted Blaine’s hand and shifted like he might sit back in his chair or, worse, leave entirely.

“No, stay. Please, Kurt. You just got here.”

“I’ve been here an hour and a half.”

Had it really been that long? “Most of that time Rachel and Finn were here,” Blaine said, holding on tightly to his fingers. “And before that I was alone all day. Just a little longer, please.”

Kurt watched him for the span of a few breaths before nodding, and Blaine couldn’t help but smile in relief. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, but even more he wanted to be with Kurt. “You know,” Kurt said, “my dad almost came over to see you today. He could’ve kept you company.”

“He did?” Blaine’s smile grew. Mr. Hummel was awesome. Sometimes he was terrifying, but that was mostly when Blaine had his hands inside of Kurt’s clothing and heard unexpected footsteps in the house, but usually he was awesome.

“Yes. He wanted to come tell you about NYADA.”

“You’re a finalist,” Blaine remembered. “Kurt, I’m so happy for you!”

Kurt’s own smile grew like one of those tiny sponge things you put into water and it expanded into, like, a hundred times its original size. Blaine had loved those as a kid, even if he’d never understood why he couldn’t get them to squish up all small again so he could repeat the growing process. That was the great thing about Kurt; he could smile as many times as Blaine could make him. Or other things. Other things could make Kurt smile, too. That was okay. “Thank you.” He squeezed Blaine’s hand. “It’s - I almost can’t believe it. I did it.”

“We should celebrate. With more than soda.”

“I’m not taking one of your pain pills, Blaine,” Kurt said with a laugh.

“No, I meant, once I’m better, I want to take you out. I really do. I can’t believe I wasn’t there at school to celebrate with you. Can I take you out when I’m better?” He should do something big. Maybe he could get a horse-drawn carriage. Or a ferris wheel! Those were romantic, right? He wondered if he could put one in his driveway.

“If that means you’ll heal up faster, then absolutely.”

“If I could be better now, I would,” Blaine promised.

“I know.” Kurt tilted his head, his smile dimming. “But it’s probably good to wait a few days until Rachel gets her letter, anyway. So we know exactly what we’re celebrating. If it’s just me, or...”

“She’ll be a finalist,” Blaine said. How could she not? She was amazing.

Kurt nodded. “I think she should, but... she’s not sure. And it’s - “ He looked up and away as if collecting his thoughts or trying to control them. “It’ll be better if she’s gotten her letter before we go out. Just so I know.”

“Okay. But that doesn’t change the fact that _you’re_ a finalist.” Blaine smiled some more. Kurt was amazing, too.

Kurt squeezed his hand. “I know. But if I get it and she doesn’t...” He trailed off, shrugging and his face crumpling a little.

“She will.”

“I want her to.”

“She _will_ , Kurt.”

Kurt shrugged again. “She stuffed the ballot box for me to win.”

“That’s not your fault,” Blaine told him.

“I know, but - “ Kurt looked up at the ceiling and drew in a long breath before meeting Blaine’s eyes again. “I know.” He didn’t look happy about it, but he at least didn’t look like he was going to cry. Blaine hated it when Kurt was sad, especially when Blaine couldn’t hug him. Like now, because Kurt was too far away to hug.

Blaine had the most brilliant idea ever in the history of the entire world. “Come here,” he said.

“What?”

Blaine tugged. “Come here. I want to hug you. And you have to come to me so that my head doesn’t fall off.”

The corner of Kurt’s mouth curved upward. “We can’t have that,” he agreed, and he carefully settled himself on the edge of Blaine’s bed, still too far away for Blaine’s preference but at least close enough that Kurt could lean over and Blaine could wrap his arms around him.

He hooked his chin on Kurt’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the throbbing in his right one. Kurt. He was supposed to be focusing on Kurt, on the way he was so firm and strong and independent yet fit so perfectly against him. He was meant to be hugged. He was meant for Blaine to hug him. And Blaine was meant to be curled up in Kurt’s arms. They were just the right length. He knew Kurt didn’t believe in a god, but surely there had to be one if they fit together so perfectly. Or maybe it was fate. Could you be an atheist and believe in fate?

“What are you mumbling about?” Kurt asked.

“I’m not mumbling,” Blaine mumbled.

For some horrible reason, Kurt pulled back, though he stayed seated by Blaine’s thigh. “Okay,” he said, “I’m going to go now.” He adjusted the collar of Blaine’s pajama shirt, and Blaine seriously considered melting into a puddle of happy warm Blaine-goo. He’d have to be careful not to get all over Kurt’s clothes, but when Kurt was so gentle like that it was hard not to become a puddle. And then he realized what Kurt had said.

“What? Why? No.”

“Blaine, I’m not sure you’re aware of it or indeed of most anything going on in the solar system, but you’re getting really loopy.”

“I know all about the solar system. I did a report on it in fifth grade. Although I don’t understand why they demoted Pluto. It wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Kurt just smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re making my case for me.”

Blaine knew that the world wasn’t usually pulsing in and out of clarity in slow waves. Kurt was probably right. He was tired enough to sleep, he thought, if he were to lie down. Except that when he thought of lying down, when he thought of the way his eye had throbbed and burned last night when he’d woken in the pitch black at three-thirty with his medicine out of his system, when he thought of being alone and if not in pain at the moment at least with the _memory_ of it fresh in his mind and of all of the mistakes and betrayals that had landed him on the ground yet again and of the surgery ahead and whether his eye would be okay or...

“Kurt, please,” he said softly, and Kurt’s smile faded into worry, sympathy, and understanding. Blaine didn’t know _what_ Kurt understood, but it still felt good to see it.

“Okay, but I’m going to read the fashion section next, and I’m only going to describe a dolman sleeve once, so you need to pay attention.”

“I can do that,” Blaine promised, filled with a veritable flood of relief. And yet Kurt rose to his feet. Blaine grabbed his wrist. “Where are you going?”

Kurt looked down at him over his shoulder. His eyes were so _pretty_. And that was a really good angle to admire his back. “To read to you?”

“I could see the pictures if you sat here.” Blaine edged over and patted the bed. “Then you wouldn’t have to describe a dolman sleeve at all.”

“Blaine - “ Kurt glanced over at the door. “Your mother - “

“I don’t _care_. And she’s not going to care, either. I just... Can’t you just sit next to me for a little while? I promise I won’t wrinkle your coat. Hey, did I tell you you look really nice today? Because you do. You always do. Like, every minute.”

“ _This_ minute, I’m more worried about you drooling on my coat than wrinkling it,” Kurt said, but he sat down again and pulled off his boots. “Scoot over. I need more room than that.”

“Okay.” Blaine scooted. Somehow he managed to keep the pillows behind his back and the throw over his lap, though he guessed that Kurt probably had something to do with it. Either that or the throw was the best throw _ever_.

Kurt sat next to him, and he smiled and accepted when Blaine offered him the edge of the blanket. If it was small enough that Blaine had to tuck himself against him for them both to be covered, then all the better. It was always nice to be close to Kurt. He felt good. He smelled good. Everything about him was good.

Blaine turned partway onto his side and rolled his head onto Kurt’s shoulder. He couldn’t see very well with his good eye pressed almost completely against Kurt’s jacket, but Kurt’s voice was soothing enough that it didn’t matter. Blaine could picture the dresses even with his eyes closed. He could picture them better. Heidi Klum twirled and strutted like she was on the runway. Helena Bonham Carter’s hair was even more edgy and fabulous. Jennifer Lopez could show as much skin as she wanted without worrying about a wardrobe malfunction. It was awesome.

A little while later, Kurt rested his cheek against the top of Blaine’s head, though the steady cadence of his voice didn’t waver, and Blaine smiled muzzily. This was so much better than being alone. He wasn’t alone. He might have been turned against by people he thought were his friends and had done some damage to his own real friends through his stupidity, but he wasn’t alone. He had Kurt. He had Finn and Rachel. And if he didn’t have the Warblers anymore, he had at least most of New Directions. Maybe all of it.

It wasn’t like last time. Even when he’d been on the ground in that garage, hurting more than he had in a long time, he hadn’t been alone.

“ - of course, the yellow is doing _nothing_ for her, even if I do approve of her taking the risk with color. It’s too bad that it makes her look - “

“Thank you,” Blaine said, fitting his hand around Kurt’s bicep and breathing in the scent of him. Even his detergent smelled good.

Kurt stilled beneath Blaine’s cheek, but he simply replied with soft sureness, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Blaine told him, and he was surprised at how watery his voice sounded. It must have been a side-effect of the medication. That and the way he could still feel the scratch of his eyelid, because it really wasn’t going to get better like magic or like waking from a bad dream.

“Shh.” Kurt kissed Blaine’s hair. “It’ll be okay. _You’ll_ be okay.”

Blaine nodded. “I know. It’s just - “

“What?”

“At the end of the day, being pushed around still sucks even when the guy is gay, you know?”

There was a second of silence before Kurt let out a hollow chuckle, barely tinged with humor. “Oh, Blaine. I could have told you that and saved you a lot of trouble.”

Blaine turned his face a little more into Kurt’s shoulder. “Next time I’ll listen.”


End file.
